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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135508">Standing Center Stage</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedPicturesPresents/pseuds/BlessedPicturesPresents'>BlessedPicturesPresents</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dreaming Wide Awake [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Alan Wake (Video Game), Alan Wake's American Nightmare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Blood, Bloodplay, Collars, Darkness, Extremely Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Tapes, Sex Toys, Shower Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:21:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedPicturesPresents/pseuds/BlessedPicturesPresents</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wake finds a collection of dubious shows Scratch has left for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mr. Scratch/Alan Wake</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dreaming Wide Awake [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Standing Center Stage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Lyric title from Poets of the Fall's "Center Stage".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t <i>strange</i>, per se, for a motel to have an entire storage room of old televisions, but it was annoying as hell, Wake thought to himself as he stepped into the dark room. He was trying to find any supplies he could use against the Taken, or give to Emma to keep her safe, and instead whoever ran this rat-box had filled this room with old-school boob tubes, in metal shelving from floor to ceiling. Wake flashes his light over the silent television glass, glancing around; with timid steps he goes further in, straining his ears. The switch hadn’t worked when he’d clicked it on, and even fucking with the nearby fuse box hadn’t fixed it, so it was extra annoying that it really did just seem to be full of televisions now that he was standing in the middle of it. The room’s air was stale, dusty and choking; the concrete floor probably didn’t help. It was obvious no one had been in here with a duster or broom for a long time, too, as Wake walks ever deeper into the belly of the television beast. The sets themselves were dusty, though he couldn’t tell if the gray glass was just gray, or if it was dusty too, and honestly he didn’t want to touch it to find out.</p>
<p>He hears the old set activate before he sees it; the soft thunk and high-pitched ring as the screen lights up and settles is unmistakable, and Wake turns towards it without even thinking. It’s in the very back, naturally, so he picks his way in the dark as carefully as he can around the metal shelves, eager to avoid whatever tetanus lurks in their sharp corners. When he gets to it, there’s a face peering into the camera in such a way that all he can see is eyes- but he recognizes them nearly immediately as his own, and that can’t be good. Another one of Scratch’s stupid videos? Wake bitterly considers walking out of here right now and leaving it unwatched, but he knows he can’t do that. He feels guilty, responsible for these. He has to see what Scratch has done.</p>
<p>Scratch mouths something and Wake realizes the TV’s sound is off. He leans forward and turns it up just in time to catch the second half of the next word. “-llo? Alan? You there?” There’s a soft moan in the room behind Scratch, and he looks over his shoulder. “Not you. Be patient.” Scratch looks back at the camera, beaming out at Wake from the tv screen. “Hey hey, buddy! Been a while, huh?”</p>
<p>“Not really,” grumbles Wake.</p>
<p>“I missed you. I just know you missed me. Now, look, I know these get pretty,” Scratch sucks air in through his grimacing teeth, “samey. You know? It’s just you, and me, and we’re talking, and sometimes there’s someone involved but they’re-” He drops his voice, almost conspiratorially, “yknow. They’re nobody. Just whoever I find today. Well, I was, uhh…” Scratch steps back from whatever camera he’s looking into; Wake can more clearly see the motel room behind him, and the naked body draped across his bed. Whoever it is, their face isn’t visible, cut off from the angle the camera sits at; they’re laying on their stomach, but any other information is obscured by the poor tv set, the poor camera angle, the poor lighting. “I was thinking, it’d be more fun if I actually put some effort into these videos. You know? You deserve it, I have the time on my hands, I dunno why I didn’t bother before. Probably bored? Anyways,” Scratch sits on the bed. The body groans again, shifting slightly, and Scratch pats their lower back loudly, smiling at the camera. “Look at this, we’ve got our first special guest.” </p>
<p>Despite himself, Wake creeps closer, trying to peer at the body. Does he recognize those shoulders? Is this someone he can save? They look broader than Emma, and he’d already seen Scratch kill the lab tech, so it couldn’t be that guy.. Scratch is talking again. “He’s, uhh. Well, you know him. You love him… mmm,” Scratch scrunches his nose, “well, not really. You two don’t usually get on,” Scratch mock-grimaces again and shrugs playfully, standing and reaching over to grab the person’s hair by the fistful and drag them up backwards.</p>
<p>Wake’s stomach goes cold. It’s him. It’s <i>Wake</i>. There’s something wrong with him, he seems dazed and unsure of himself, and as Scratch drags TV-Wake up, he settles on his knees on the comforter, swaying slightly. He coughs, and shadows slide out of his lips. Taken? Wake peers at the screen. Too human-looking to be Taken. Whatever Scratch had done, TV-Wake wasn’t completely gone, just.. fucked up. Drunk on Darkness, or something.</p>
<p>“Alaaaaan <i>Wake!</i>” Scratch crows, thrusting his arms out at the camera. “Give him a big hand for his TV debut, folks! He’s been such a great guest so far, and he’s got so much more to show us! I just know it.” Scratch drops his arms and smiles darkly at the camera, the cruelty in his eyes making Wake feel a terrible fear for his television-self, swaying and muttering something where he kneels on the bed behind Scratch. “You may be asking yourself, now, Alan,” Scratch turns and slaps TV-Wake on the back, and he stutters, looking up at Scratch, “you seem out of it! You’re not sick, are ya?”</p>
<p>“N.. no,” slurs TV-Wake, and Wake feels himself grimacing so tightly his face is starting to ache. The way Scratch’s hand slides down TV-Wake’s chin, over his lips, down his throat.. he can practically feel the tingle of Scratch’s skin on his, instead, and it’s terrifying. “I .. I need..” His hand, shaking, reaches for Scratch’s wrist, but Scratch ignores it.</p>
<p>“You heard it here first, folks! Alan Wake, right as rain.” Scratch’s voice goes dark, and he thumbs something on TV-Wake’s throat, pulling at it, jerking him forward; Wake realizes with a short start that it’s some kind of collar- a dog’s collar, some leather thing with a big silver ring on the front. He pulls back from the screen as Scratch uses it to pull TV-Wake down to his hands on the bed, Scratch unzipping his pants as he does, revealing a half-hard dick that he shoves into TV-Wake’s face. Dazedly, TV-Wake takes it in his mouth, slurping at it unsteadily. “That’s right,” Scratch murmurs down at him, apparently forgetting the camera.</p>
<p>That’s enough. Wake can’t watch this. He turns away but as he does, another television set flickers on, buzzing. Over the first television’s sucking and slurping noises, Wake hears Scratch’s voice again.</p>
<p>“Hey, all you sports fans,” Scratch is crooning as Wake walks to it, peering up at the screen. The camera starts pointing at Scratch’s face; he’s flushed, his tie undone like he just got finished running a marathon. Scratch smiles like he knows Wake is watching, and flips the camera to show what he’s looking at. Wake recoils as he sees TV-Wake’s back again, front and center on the camera’s feed. Scratch is clearly holding the camera in one hand and TV-Wake’s hips in the other as he rails into the man over and over again, fucking him brutally. Scratch’s zipper is leaving angry red marks on TV-Wake’s thighs and ass, on top of what looks like reddened skin from multiple rough slaps, and TV-Wake is making the softest, pitiful pained moans with each thrust. In all the movement Wake can tell: he’s still wearing that fucking collar. “Our marathon man Alan Wake’s at it again, and let me tell you, folks, he could! go! all! the! way!” Scratch slaps TV-Wake’s ass hard, the skin turning a deeper shade of red. “We love to see it, don’t we, folks!”</p>
<p>Wake jerks away from the new television, but a third set has just shuddered to life, again from Scratch’s perspective. “Shhh,” he whispers into the microphone, over the first television’s gagging and the second’s moaning. “I think he’s asleep.” The camera shows TV-Wake, still collared and naked, panting, laying on his back on the bed; he’s covered in cum, streaked across glittering wounds carved into his chest. Wake gasps, touching the screen as if it’ll give him more information. Scratch leans over the man, wiping a bloodied blade flat against TV-Wake’s nipple, making him moan and squirm. “Oop- nope, he’s awake. How do you feel, Alan?” TV-Wake moans, balls his fists in the comforter. “Yeah, those look like they <i>hurt.</i>”  Blood sluggishly leaks down his skin onto the comforter, and Wake involuntarily touches his own chest, imagining the pain, the burning of the wounds, the skin pulled apart. Scratch drops the knife beside him and touches one of the wounds, making TV-Wake squirm again; Scratch chuckles and reaches down, angling the camera to show an already blood-streaked erection peeking out of his pants. It’s clear the blood isn’t his, and he grips his bloody hand around it, moaning softly into the camera. “One more time, let’s see if that helps.”</p>
<p>Again Wake pulls away, stalks out of the aisle of shelves, but one on the end-cap flashes at him as he walks past it; he nearly doesn’t turn back, nearly walks away, leaves this nightmare room, but he hears TV-Wake whimper and he almost can’t control his feet, spinning to look. Now the camera’s set on some bathroom sink, pointed at the bare shower; Scratch had clearly torn the shower curtain down, and TV-Wake, still collared, is pressed against the wall under the shower head. His hands are tight in Scratch’s hair, and he’s moaning loud as Scratch goes down on him, deep-throating his dick with a gusto that Wake wouldn’t have expected from the bastard. TV-Wake’s leg is thrown over Scratch’s shoulder, and he’s absolutely going insane from whatever Scratch is doing with his tongue, thrusting his hips uneasily into Scratch’s mouth.</p>
<p>TV-Wake cums and Scratch swallows every drop, pushing TV-Wake’s leg off his shoulder before pulling away and licking up TV-Wake’s hips, his midriff and chest, until he’s standing. He glances at the camera, winks roguishly. “My turn!” Scratch croons, and TV-Wake turns without a word, pushing his shaky hands against the tile and jutting his ass out towards Scratch, who slaps it hard enough that the camera picks up the bathroom’s echo. “That’s a good boy!” Wake turns away as Scratch starts to jerk himself over TV-Wake’s back before shoving unceremoniously into the man, getting a loud and dripping needy moan.</p>
<p>Half the television sets are on now, all featuring TV-Wake and Scratch in some fucked up variation. On one, the camera points down at a sloppy blowjob, TV-Wake’s nose bleeding heavily over his drooling lips as his tear-streaked face is forced further down on Scratch’s dick, gagging; on another, Scratch waggles some hideous purple dildo at the camera, laughing “motels, right?” before shoving it deep into TV-Wake’s ass; on a third, Scratch fucks TV-Wake hard, hands wrapped around his throat, TV-Wake scrabbling at him and gasping for air. The room is heavy with a cacophony of slick noises, wet skin against skin, moaning and pleading, please, harder, don’t stop. Above it all, there’s TV-Wake’s dazed voice and Scratch’s dark chuckles and commentary. Something dark and heady stirs in Wake’s stomach, and he can feel himself starting to react to it all: it’s over the top, absolutely disgusting porn seemingly made just for him, and his body reacts against his mind’s will, shamelessly stirring. He can’t breathe, and his skin is hotter than it should be even in the desert; he can practically feel Scratch’s hands and mouth all over him, and the more the televisions show, the more real it seems to become. Wake’s throat tightens, and for a moment, he swears he knows exactly what that collar feels like, feels the way it would pull when Scratch pulled against it. Wants to feel it.</p>
<p>Wake stumbles, his feet finally working with him; he runs for the door, but as he shoves it open, there stands Scratch, smiling darkly. “What’s wrong, Alan?” Scratch murmurs, stepping towards him. “Didn’t like the show?” Wake points the flashlight at him, pouring all the power he can into the beam, but Scratch slaps it out of his grip and pounces. Wake turns to run, and they go down together, Scratch tackling him onto the dirty concrete floor. They struggle against each other, and Wake tries swinging at Scratch, but Scratch has him pinned on the ground with a supernatural strength in just a few seconds. Wake’s trapped in an awkward kneeling position, with his head forced down against the dusty concrete, and Scratch up against him; he feels Scratch pawing at his half-hard dick through his jeans and hisses.</p>
<p>“What’s this? You <i>did</i> like it!” Snarling, Wake kicks at Scratch, but he’s shoved hard against the ground in return, and the concrete scrapes his cheek open. “I’m glad, I worked <i>so hard</i> on it just for you. And with you. And in you. On you. Yknow.” Scratch laughs, unzipping Wake’s jeans. “Whatever I could get my hands on, really.”</p>
<p>“<i>Get the fuck off me!</i>” Wake shouts, but Scratch leans down hard on him again, shoving his hand into Wake’s mouth; his fingers slide against his tongue in a mockery of fucking, back and forth, making Wake want to gag but not going deep enough to force him to. With Scratch’s body pinning Wake’s arms against his back, the doppleganger’s free to pull Wake’s dick out of his boxers, jerking him harder and harder as Wake struggles. It’s uncomfortable, but Wake can’t focus on that or in fact anything. Between the intrusions in his mouth and every single television blaring his own voice moaning and purring and screaming for Scratch, Wake can’t help moaning. His mind goes bleary, Darkness tainting him ever so slightly in a warm and sickeningly familiar drape, and he moans again, sucking on Scratch’s fingers, panting as Scratch pulls at his dick with a single-minded fury.</p>
<p>“Just like this,” Scratch purrs against his ear.</p>
<p>He cums hard, the moan ripped from his throat, and before he even finishes completely Scratch is up, pushing him down and standing up, heels clicking against the floor as he strides out of the room. Dazed, Wake sits up, disoriented, body aching from kneeling against the floor in such a strange position; the televisions are all just gray static now, and they all shut off simultaneously as Wake staggers to his feet, throwing him into near-total darkness. Light pours from the open door to the room, but it starts to close, creaking, and Wake panics, running forward to pull it open again, trying to push his limp dick back into his boxers, entirely disheveled.</p>
<p>On the ground at the bottom of the door lays a single dog collar, draped lovingly over Wake’s flashlight.</p>
<p>As soon as Wake puts himself back together in the warm glow of the motel’s lights, he chucks the damn collar as hard as he can into the darkness of the desert.</p>
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